Rock-A-Bye Baby
by firstcatfish
Summary: A man, a child, and a clown walk into the Salvation Army…Weechesters, traumatized!Sam, sick!Dean, Awesome!John Possible triggers. Read warning carefully.


**Title** : Rock-A-Bye Baby

 **Summary** : A man, a child, and a clown walk into the Salvation Army…Weechesters, traumatized!Sam, sick!Dean, Awesome!John Possible triggers. Read warning carefully.

 **Rated** : T

 **Disclaimer** : Don't own them and never will. I just like to play.

 **Warnings** : This is possibly the darkest story I have written. Possible triggers for shootings (the random act of violence type), death, and threatening the life of a child.

 **SPNSPNSPNSPN**

"Oh, Dean," John sighed as his eldest began vomiting again, all over his last clean pair of pajamas. Not that they were all that great to begin with. The sleeves were high on his wrists and the pant legs only went down to mid-shin. But the boy had already soiled his good pajamas earlier this evening and the rest of his clothes were either dirty or too small.

"Sorry, Daddy," Dean whispered as he shivered with fever. He looked up at his father with abject misery and helplessness and John's heart melted. It had been a while since his 8 year old son had looked so young, glassy eyes begging him to fix everything.

Sighing, he picked the boy up and carried him into the bathroom, careful to avoid the vomit splattered all over his clothing. Dean complacently laid his head on his father's shoulder. That in itself told John how horrible he felt. Dean was highly independent and fully capable of taking care of himself and his brother under normal circumstances. It wasn't often he allowed someone else to completely take over.

Setting the boy down on the toilet lid, he started the water in the tub and began carefully stripping the soiled jammies off his son. Dean tried weakly to help, but John batted his hands away with a murmured order, "Be still." Dean relaxed immediately and let John manipulate his limbs through the smelly material.

After he helped the child into the tub, he gathered the soiled clothes with a grimace. "Will you be okay for a few minutes while I go find something clean for you to put on?" He asked, eagle eyes pinning his son in their demand for the truth. Dean nodded weakly, and grabbed the washcloth draped over the edge of the tub to begin cleaning himself.

John nodded and headed into the other room. On his way to Sammy's duffle, he checked on his youngest who was thankfully still asleep, oblivious to his brother's sickness. Rifling through the clothes, he realized immediately that nothing there would still fit Dean. Still, he was dismayed at how little there was and how worn everything looked. It was true that Sammy got all of his clothes from Dean and Dean got his second hand from the Salvation Army or Good Will, but he had not noticed how truly tattered everything was getting.

Bowing his head, he allowed the enormity of everything he faced as a single father of two very young children to wash over him. And that was without his self appointed mission to rid the world of everything supernatural in general and one demon in particular. Taking a deep breath, he stiffened his spine and packed the clothes back into the duffle before moving on to his own things. Dean would have to wear one of his shirts. It would hang off the boy, but it was all they had at the moment.

Drawing a shirt out, he immediately put it back. It had brown blood stains around the collar as a reminder of a particularly vicious poltergeist. Another shirt went back in the bag, a significant hole in the seam. Finally, he found a plain white T-shirt that wasn't in too bad condition and returned with it to the bathroom.

Dean was finished, and sitting shivering in the tub. Grabbing a towel, John helped the boy out. He briskly rubbed the towel over Dean's hair and body, gentling his touch significantly at the small whimper the boy let out. He belatedly remembered how sensitive Dean's skin got when he had a fever.

Slipping the T-shirt over Dean's head, he picked the child up and carried him back into the other room. He eyed Dean's normal spot next to his brother and instead opted to place him in John's own bed. Relatively little of the vomit splatter had made it to the bedding, but he didn't want the boy's restlessness to wake Sammy. It wasn't like he was going to get much sleep anyway.

Dean murmured a sleepy question, but John quieted him with a touch and a gentle, "Get some sleep. You'll feel better in the morning." Dean gave him one last trusting look and let his eyes slip shut. John grabbed his journal and slipped onto the bed next to his eldest. He smiled slightly as Dean shifted to press up closely against him. Slipping his fingers through the fine blond curls, he decided that he was going to find the next Salvation Army and resupply his small unit.

 **SPNSPNSPNSPN**

Hollering with excitement, Sammy scrambled out of the car and charged toward the Salvation Army. Taking a couple of large steps forward, John grabbed the child right before he almost got mowed down by a passing car. A blast from the car horn showed how close the boy had come to becoming a Samcake.

"Samuel Winchester!" John growled, fear giving his voice an extra bite. His heart was still thumping in his throat. His youngest immediately stilled and looked up at him, eyes large with contrition. However, puppy dog eyes or not, John wasn't yet ready to forgive. "You know better than that. You stay next to me or I will take you right back to the motel and you will spend the day in the corner. You understand me?"

"Yes, Daddy." Sammy nodded vigorously, brown curls bouncing. John softened. His youngest needed a haircut…again. Sometimes he thought the boy's hair grew a couple inches a day. Grabbing his hand firmly, he headed toward the store.

He would need to keep a close eye on Sammy as the boy was brimming with energy from being cooped up for days in a small motel room. He wished he could have brought Dean to help watch him, but his eldest was still recovering from the flu and needed the peace and quiet more than anything. A few hours away from his pesky little brother would do him a world of good.

Entering the brightly lit store, John eyed the rows of clothing with a sigh. He hated shopping and especially for clothes. He felt as out of place in a clothing store as a penguin in the desert. Tightening his lips in determination, he began hunting for the children's clothes. Three wrong turns later, he found himself in a narrow aisle with clothes crowded onto the racks on either side.

"Daddy?" A small hand tugged on his jacket.

"Not now, Sammy," he murmured, looking for clothes in Dean's size. He pulled out a pair of jeans and checked the size before putting them back…too small for Dean, too large for Sammy.

"But, Daddy," Sam whined again. "I wanna look at that bunny."

"No, Sam. We didn't come here for toys. I told you that before we came in." Yanking out a T-shirt, he confirmed it was the right size and began hunting for a couple more that would be appropriate.

"But…"

"Hush, Sam. You need to learn to entertain yourself. Keep quiet and behave yourself for a while until I get this done." Okay, shirts done. He still needed pants, pajamas and underclothes. Oh, and shoes. Dean went through shoes faster than Sam did haircuts. Muttering to himself, he continued searching, not noticing the silence at his side.

 **SPNSPNSPNSPN**

Sam's jaw jutted out mulishly as he watched his father working his way through the rack of clothes. He'd just wanted to look at the blue bunny rabbit he'd spotted on the shelf full of second hand toys. He knew they couldn't take it home, but why couldn't he just look at it?

His attention was drawn to a flash of movement on the floor. Squatting down, the small boy looked at the beetle scuttling across the dirty linoleum. It was kind of fast for its size. It moved under the metal rack of clothing and into the next aisle. Ducking under the rack stuffed with skirts and dresses for girls, Sam followed the bug.

Suddenly, he was no longer in a Salvation Army store, but in a desert of dirty white sand surrounded by towering cliffs. Stealthily he followed the big black dragon through the maze. It had a damsel in the dress somewhere and he had to save her.

He'd asked his brother what a damsel was and why she was wearing a dress. His brother said it was one of the screaming ladies from the monster movies they sometimes watched when Daddy was gone. He figured the dress was just to make her pretty, though Sammy thought those girls looked kind of silly screaming their heads off.

He had to follow the monster back to its cave. He was sure he'd find the screaming lady in the dress there. He couldn't wait to tell his brother how he'd killed the dragon and saved the damsel just like the heroes in the stories his brother read to him.

A sudden sound made Sammy jerk his head up. The beetle disappeared under a large bookcase along the edge of the store. The sound came again, a loud bang followed by a scream. The damsel must be over there. The monster had been leading him on a wild chicken chase. Glaring at where the beetle had disappeared, he scampered away toward the sound. He needed to save the lady before she got her dress dirty.

Another scream and…singing? Sammy stopped and cocked his head in confusion. It sounded like a song he had learned in preschool at the last town they had stayed in. But it didn't sound right. It was almost creepy.

Rock-a-bye baby…..bang….more screams.

Sammy didn't like the loud sounds, but curiosity and an almost hypnotic pull drew him closer.

In the tree top…bang

Moving almost like he was in a dream, Sammy stepped out into the main aisle. Looking up, he studied the strange sight coming toward him.

When the wind blows.

The man in the middle of the aisle turned toward him. His face was white, like a ghost. He had red all around his mouth like he had been drinking red Kool-aid too fast and got it all over his face. He raised his hand and another bang made Sammy jump and press his small hands over his ears.

The cradle will rock.

The person took a step toward him, a big smile stretching the red across his cheeks. His curly hair was bright orange and rainbow puffballs were stuck all over his brightly colored clothes. The look in the man's eyes made Sammy whimper in fear. He wanted to run back to Daddy, but he couldn't move.

When the bough breaks.

The huge shoes made a slapping noise as the man started running toward him. Sammy stood frozen in terror, not even noticing the patch of warm wetness that worked its way down his jeans.

The store seemed strangely quiet as the colorful man came to a stop in front of Sammy.

"No!" the sudden scream split the silence and Sammy's attention was jerked to the side. He saw a woman charging toward them, her face streaked with tears. A part of his brain wondered if she was the damsel he'd been looking for and why she was crying. The explosion of sound from right beside him deafened him and he saw the woman's dress turn red as she fell on her face, sliding forward a few inches before she lay still.

'Get up!" he wanted to scream. 'Please get up! I don't wanna fight the monster by myself anymore.' Instead, his eyes were drawn inexorably back to the large clown towering over him. "Daddy? Dean?" he whimpered.

The painted red smile was a perfect match for the wild, crazy eyes. "Bye bye, Baby."

 **SPNSPNSPNSPN**

The sound of a gunshot echoing over the canned store music made John's head jerk up. Instinct and training took over before his brain had even identified the sound. Ducking down among the racks of clothing, he grabbed the gun out of the small of his back where he had safely hidden it before entering the store. Flashes of dark green jungle and painted faces in the night clouded his vision. A roaring sound filled with machine gun fire echoed in his ears and he fought the urge to hunch over, hands to his head.

Growling, he fought off the flashback, looking around for Sammy. He flinched as another gunshot echoed through the store followed by screams and shouts. He needed to secure his son and find the source of the shots. It took him a moment to realize that Sammy was nowhere to be found. He froze, uncertainty freezing the blood in his veins. The boy had been right by his side a moment ago, hadn't he?

Cursing under his breath, he realized he had no idea how long it had been since he had seen his son. Still crouched down below the level of the racks, he searched frantically for the tiny legs clad in worn jeans. Another shot, more screams. Every instinct as a father demanded he stand up and yell for his son. Training as a soldier was stronger though. He needed to neutralize the threat before searching for missing civilians. 'He's not a random civilian, he's your son.' Ruthlessly, he shoved the small voice in his head down and went in search of the source of gunfire. He had to hope that Sammy would hear the sounds and hide.

Rounding the end of the rack, he spotted someone on the ground, dragging his body along the floor toward the nearest cover. A glance both ways revealed no gunman, though a bang and more screams let him know he was near. The sounds seemed to echo around him, a strange result of the architecture of the building. John couldn't accurately pinpoint the source. He darted over to man on the ground.

Touching the man on the shoulder, he barely got a hand over his mouth to muffle the terrified yelp. The injured guy relaxed when he saw John, and gave a tight nod. John removed his hand, and in a barely audible whisper asked, "Where?" The guy pointed to the left and John darted a look that way to see the aisle still clear.

With a quick tug, he moved the injured man to the safety of a rack of bathrobes. He jerked one down and pointed to the growing wet spot on the man's thigh. "Put pressure on that. Help will be here soon. Stay down." The man nodded again, and John checked the aisle once more before darting down toward the junction, his feet placed carefully to maximize silence.

He heard what sounded like singing and loud slapping footsteps. A woman screamed "No!" before being silenced by another shot. Reaching the junction of the aisles, John peeked around a rack of coats and saw the back of a large man dressed as a clown, looking down at something in front of him. His heart stopped when he identified that something as his missing son.

"Bye bye, Baby," the man crooned as he raised the gun in his hand. John realized he was out of time, but it felt like everything slowed down. A headshot was the only sure way to stop what was about to happen, but he wasn't sure he could make the shot from this angle. Suddenly, the air around him chilled and he could have sworn a set of arms went around him, lifting his hands. Cold fingers curled around his as he aimed and fired.

 **SPNSPNSPNSPN**

"We're here at The Salvation Army on 3rd and Franklin where just 30 minutes ago, authorities responded to reports of shots fired. Apparently, an unidentified man dressed as a clown entered the store and began gunning people down. We have reports of four dead and at least two seriously injured. I'm here with Paula Simmons, who was getting ready to enter the store when the first shots happened. Paula, tell us what you saw."

"It was the scariest thing I ever seen. I saw that clown go into the building ahead of me, ya know? I thought it were some promotion or sumthin. Fortunately, my shoelaces come untied and I had to fix 'em 'fore I could go anywhere. Otherwise, I mighta been in there too, ya know? I heard the shots, but dinnit know what they were at first. Then some people ran out screaming that the clown was killing everyone. I ran and hid in my car. I was afeered of going anywhere. That clown mighta come out and shot me as I was driving away, you hear me?"

"What happened next?"

"Well, I heard several shots and people screaming, then silence. It were creepy. I dinnit know what was going on. Then the door burst open and this guy comes running out holding a kid. The kid is screaming bloody murder and was covered in blood. They run right past me, so I seen everything. Then other people started coming out and the police got there shortly after."

"Thanks, Paula. Although police have not released a formal statement, they have let us know that they are looking for the man who was carrying the child. He is not considered a suspect at this time, but is wanted for questioning…"

John switched the radio off with an almost violent twist. Moving to the sink, he rinsed out the bloody washcloth he had been using to clean up his youngest son. Glancing to the side, he saw the pale face of his eldest, looking at him with unspoken fear. He regretted turning on the radio, but he'd had to know if he'd been identified yet, not to mention what had happened to the injured and dying he'd left behind in order to get his hysterical son out of there.

Sighing, he let his hand rest for a moment on Dean's shoulder. "He'll be all right, Dean," he murmured as he moved past him to deal once more with his youngest. Sammy sat quietly on the table in the kitchenette, his eyes staring blankly into space. The silence was starting to worry him and he wondered just how traumatized his son was going to be from the afternoon's events. John wiped the cloth gently one more time over Sam's face and chest, removing the last bit of blood. He'd get him in the bath later, but right now, he wanted to bundle the child into warm blankets and hold him close to stave off shock...whether his own or Sammy's he wasn't sure.

He could see it again…the clown falling forward…Sammy screaming…the panic….yanking the heavy man off his small son. Sammy had screamed bloody murder until he'd gotten them back to the Impala. Then he'd gone scarily quiet, almost catatonic. He'd refused to let go of his father, and John had been forced to drive to the motel with a baby spider monkey clinging fiercely to his neck. He had barely managed to convince the boy to let go long enough to get him cleaned up. John shook his head roughly and forced himself to focus on the present.

Bundling a blanket around the small form, he scooped him up. Skinny arms immediately wrapped around his neck and a curly head burrowed into his throat. Sitting down on the couch, he beckoned toward Dean who was still standing frozen near the sink. The 8 year old didn't know what was going on, but he definitely knew it wasn't good. He immediately scampered to his father's side and curled in next to his brother.

His family gathered close, John finally allowed himself to give in to the shakes. His breaths came in deep shuddering gasps as he considered what he could have lost that day. 'I could have lost him, Mary.' The thought, half prayer half plea for forgiveness, threatened to consume him.

He barely felt the tug on his sleeve, but he slowly turned to face his eldest son. And almost broke down and cried when Dean stated solemnly, "We're okay, Daddy. You won't let anything bad happen. It's okay."

 **SPNSPNSPNSPN**

John looked up from his journal at the sound of happy laughter. Pushing aside the curtains at the window next to him, he smiled slightly at the sight of his children chasing each other around the tiny yard they'd been lucky enough to get with the rundown rental.

It had been six weeks since the shooting and Sammy, with the resiliency of the very young, had bounced nearly completely back. He never spoke about what he had experienced, and, in fact, he showed few signs of remembering what had happened at all. John wasn't sure avoiding talking about it was healthy, but he was secretly relieved not to have to deal with the awful memories any more than they had. He was dealing with his own issues from that day.

He glanced down at his notes. He had been trying to work through what had happened in that cursed place for weeks now. Something or someone had helped him make a nearly impossible kill shot to save his youngest son's life. The hunter in him wanted to identify the ghost, solve the mystery. The father in him wanted to accept the gift and move on. He wished he was as resilient as Sammy.

He smiled as Dean tackled his brother and began tickling him. Sam's shrieks of delight were shrill enough to break glass, but John found himself chuckling at the sight. It really was good to hear him laugh again. It had been a long six weeks.

He allowed his thoughts to go back to the days shortly after the shooting. As soon as he had been able to stop shaking, he had bundled his children into the Impala with all their belongings and made for the nearest state border like a fox with its tail on fire. He wasn't really afraid of being arrested, since store cameras would show the shooting to be justified. However, too much scrutiny of his family by anyone in authority was never a good thing with the life he lived.

Sammy had remained catatonic for hours…long enough for John to quietly start to panic. However, Dean had kept talking to his brother, dealing with him with the natural grace and patience he had inherited from his mother. That patience had been rewarded because, after 8 hours of silence, Sammy had talked back. Overnight, it seemed, he went back to his normal chatterbox self. When Dean had tried to get him to talk about what happened, though, Sammy had given him a bewildered stare and started talking about something completely different. It was if it had never happened.

However, in the weeks that followed, John had had to deal with the fallout in other ways. Sammy woke screaming from nightmares he didn't remember and had wet the bed nearly every night for two weeks. He also wouldn't go near a store, even convenience stores for a long time. He flat refused to get out of the car when they tried to go shopping and became hysterical if they tried to get him out by force. It had been easier to just leave him in the car with Dean while he did the shopping. It had only been yesterday that Sam had agreed to go inside with them, and even then he had remained glued to his father's side.

The worst outcome of that terrible day, though, and one that showed no signs of going away, was Sammy's complete and utter terror of clowns. He wouldn't go near a McDonald's and became inconsolable for hours whenever a clown showed up on television. He had even refused to play in a playground with a vaguely clown shaped statue nearby. Dean was mystified and frustrated by his behavior, but John understood it completely. He would never be able to look at the colorful freaks again without wanting to fill them full of lead. He hoped, for Sammy's sake as well as his own, though, that the phobia would fade with time. He had never noticed how many clowns and clown shaped objects were out there until he had to keep a constant watch out for them to avoid a Sammy meltdown. It was exhausting.

Sighing, he tore his thoughts from the past and focused on his children, the happy voices making him smile and relaxing muscles he hadn't known were tense. What would come would come, he suddenly decided, and he would handle it. Nothing bad, supernatural or normal every day freaks, was going to get his children while he was there to stop it. Nodding decisively, he closed his journal and pushed his papers aside. It was time to put away the hunter for a while and spend some time as a father. With that thought, he got up and went outside to join the ones that made this whole crappy life worth it.

 **The End**

 **Please tell me what you think. :)**


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